


Make Me, Take Me

by TGBMcCray



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Ben likes to watch, Bossy Ben, Bratty Rey, Car Sex, Choking, Daddy Issues, Drinking, Drug Use, Escapism fantasies, F/M, Finger Fucking, I promise., M/M, Modern AU, Not too old, Oral, Please mind the tags., Questionable morals., Rey is a problem teen., Rey is kind of fucked up but she gets better, Road Trip, She performs a sexual act with Hux but it's over quick, She's also a bit of a slut., She's poor., Size Kink, Underage Sex, Younger Rey/Older Ben, allusions to dubious consent, breath play, damaged Rey, self love, smart assery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGBMcCray/pseuds/TGBMcCray
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Rey Niima has been halfway around the world with her alcoholic mother, Beth, before they land in Plutt's Trailer Court, an eyesore in a tiny town in Tennessee. Unable to distract herself from the boredom of small town life with any of her mother's usual vices, she decides Ben Solo might be a good way to spend an evening or two. In town for his own reasons, Ben watches the strange girl in the trailer next door for about a day before he decides she's meant for better things. Of course, Rey thinks it's all her idea.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 37
Kudos: 95





	1. Rey

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! I'm still writing everything but I couldn't get this out of my head. Parts of it came to me in a dream and it just wouldn't go away, so here we are. It's dirty. Like filthy. And Rey is damaged. So, mind the tags. Let me know what you think!  
> If you follow my other stories, CR updates on Thursdays. The other two update as quick as I can. More SMD is coming in a day at most (depends how much free time I get tonight to keep polishing it).  
> I would love feedback, support, emojis. Just let me know I'm not alone here. xo

In the dreams, the hands are always large and well formed, with lovely blue-tinted veins running down to the wide knuckles. The blunt fingertips are roughened from work but not unclean. Two of them tease her, dipping inside her cunt cautiously until she gives up all pretense of being anything but the thirsty little bitch she is and pushing herself forward to fuck them. Two of his fingers feel wider and better somehow than any of the dicks she’s ever taken. He knows how to use them and it doesn’t take long until she is climbing, shuddering, biting his shoulder in half choked screams. He plays her through it, pulling her inside out with the pleasure of it, and then one finger withdraws, soothing, softly fluttering against her sex as she comes down. 

When it’s over, the silent, faceless man with the hair as smooth as the night around them surprises her. He doesn’t slide her onto her back and drive into her like most of the boys her age, losing himself within a few seconds of restless thrusting. He doesn’t start to cry like Rose Tico’s father had that time before they left Otomok City when she was fifteen, either. Thank God.

Those hands pull her close into a chest as broad and hard as the floorboards of their old apartment in New York. One hand cups her hip, resting with the fingertips curling around the fat of her ass. She feels herself waking in her sleep as she sees their night together. It’s an odd feeling, waking in a dream, like being drunk while sleepwalking. 

All night, the man’s broad hand holds her hip. When she turns over, facing away from him, his fingers find her again, arm flung wide to close the space between them. His fingertips press against her curve, and she hears him back there, a soft sigh of contentment escaping his lips. 

He is with her, that hands says. She’s not alone, his warm fingers say. 

He won’t let go. 

**

Ben Solo shows up in Plutt’s Trailer Court the same day her mother drags Armie Hux home to their dilapidated single-wide. 

“Listen, I know I said D.S. was the last guy, but Armie’s really nice,” her mother wheedles, her vocal chords cracked from years of cigarettes and cheap whiskey. “I promise, you’re going to love him. Plus, it’s my birthday. Your mum deserves a crackin’ good time for her birthday, yeah?”

Rey rolls her eyes from her seat on the cement blocks that pass for stairs in front of their trailer. Hux, a skinny redhead with neck acne, is pulling balloons and several paper bags out of the back of the rusty station wagon. “I brought the party, baby!” he calls, and her mother takes another quick, dark look at Rey from the yard. “Just be nice, ok? I want him to stay.” She’s gone then, jumping through the debris in the grass to help Armie Hux unload the rest of the birthday goodies. Her mother is turning 40 today, a real milestone. Trust her to bring home another loser to celebrate her slide into middle-age mediocrity. 

Like her whole damned life hasn’t already been mediocre, Rey muses. An exercise in excess, lack of control, vices. And aren’t you just like her? A little voice inside her mind asks. 

No. Rey thinks, watching Beth Niima’s flyaway hair, crunchy from her last bad attempt at dyeing it blonde, blow into Hux’s face as they make out by the car. I have taste, at least. 

“Come here, darling,” her mother says, beckoning with a brown bag when she comes up for air. “We brought you that coconut rum you like.”

With a sigh, Rey heaves herself to her feet, dusting off her ripped jeans with both hands. After all, why turn down free liquor?

Two hours later, her mother, Hux, and a half dozen of their various shady friends are spilling into the yard, smoking weed on overturned oil buckets and singing along to bad country music. Rey nurses her rum straight from the elongated white bottle, picking at her cuticles and trying to look unapproachable as she leans against their wagon. 

The car that pulls into the graveled driveway next to theirs isn’t new but it’s a sight better off than their old banger. When the stranger opens the door, he has to fold himself out of the dark blue shell of it. It’s like watching a cat unfold from a small pile of fluff to a long line of feline power before it pounces. He definitely has claws, that one. 

He’s not thin, though. His shoulders, broad and powerful, are swept by a messy shag of silky ink-black hair. She tries to calculate by where his torso hits against the top of the car, and her mind supplies that he must be over six foot, though how far over is anyone’s guess. Beth doesn’t usually bring tall men around. They scare her. 

Rey feels a shiver run up her spine as the man pockets his keys and begins walking determinedly toward the front of that hermit Skywalker’s trailer. She’s not afraid, but intrigued? Definitely. 

His face, what can she can see of it from the side, features a stronger forehead than jaw, with stark black brows, a too prominent nose, and a set of distinctly plush lips for a man. She stands from her spot on the grass, mirroring his advance up her drive, as she wants to keep him closer in her line of sight for as long as she can. 

At the door, he hesitates a moment, one weighty fist poised to rap against the cheap aluminum frame. 

Without thinking, she juts one hip out a bit in her jeans to show her figure to full effect, and calls out to him. “Hey, stranger. You lost?”

He drops his fist without knocking and cocks his head to look at her. Dark eyes take in her bare feet, the tight jeans, the tanned, smooth legs through the overly large rips at her thighs, and the slope of her shoulders in the pink cotton tank. His gaze lingers a moment on the lean column of her neck, the smattering of freckles across her dainty nose, the oddly bright hazel eyes, and stops at the long brown hair in the messy ponytail. 

His look is a physical thing, deep and probing from her feet to her head. She shivers a little, catching a tighter hold on the bottle in her hand. His full lips quirk just a tiny bit, but it’s the only outward reaction she can see.

He turns without a word and raps on the door twice before turning the handle and calling out in a deep voice, “It’s Ben, Uncle Luke. I’m coming in.” He disappears into the darkness. 

Disappointed, Rey turns away from Skywalker’s trailer. Hux watches her with shrewd eyes from the old couch at the end of their porch. Her mother is snoring against his shoulder. Hux licks his lips.

**

Rey’s room sits at the back of their trailer. It was the laundry room, but they don’t have a washer and dryer, and the ceiling in the second bedroom has leaked so much the floor is caving in, so she moved her stuff in here. 

Once most of the party has broken up and her mum is safely in bed sleeping it off, Rey walks into the living room and waits. When Hux looks up from the fuzzy tv, she hooks a finger, beckoning. He follows her through her room and out the door at the end of it that leads to a rickety wooden back porch. 

Hux starts trying to kiss her almost as soon as the door shuts behind them, and she goes along with it for a little while. Thankfully, he’s neither much of a kisser or much of a man. Like a young boy, he moves almost immediately to her tits, his thin fingers grasping them through her tank, then lifting it and shoving his face against them. 

“Christ, you’ve got nice boobs,” he says, tweaking one nipple. “A little small, but they’re still so firm.” His moist mouth encircles one and she closes her eyes, trying to moan in the right places, trying to get this done. 

He comes up for air soon, palming his crotch. “Can I fuck you?” he demands. 

She shakes her head. “No.”

He licks her neck, grasping her tit like a stress ball. “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t play hard to get. You called me out here.”

“I haven’t done it before,” she lies, eyes on the Skywalker trailer, a mass in the darkness beside them. “Can’t we just do it over our clothes?”

“Yeah, ok,” he says, breath hot in her ear. “Turn around, baby.” 

She hears his zipper and he nudges her, pulling at the waist of her jeans. Sighing, already so bored, she drops them around her ankles and pushes her ass toward him. His dick feels small against her cotton panties, rubbing against the crack of her ass. He humps her in earnest, one hand at her hips and the other squeezing one of her tits where her tank is still pushed up. 

She doesn’t bother moving or leaning into him. He’s bucking against her buttocks, faster and faster, muttering dirty words that he probably thinks are sexy. 

The back door of Skywalker’s trailer opens almost soundlessly, and a huge dark shape materializes. He looks to the left and sees them, but he doesn’t go back inside. He leans against the far rail, watching them as he lights a smoke. She grasps the rail in front of her, her eyes connecting to his over the flame of the lighter, zeroing in on his mouth. 

Ben, he’d said. Uncle Luke. Was this a visit or was he here to stay? 

There isn’t much moon so she can’t be sure if he’s turned on or just amazed, but like watching a train wreck, Ben doesn’t look away from them. She reaches up with her other hand and squeezes her free breast, her fingers curving gently around the light weight of it, her eyes on his in the darkness across from her. 

“I’m coming, baby,” Hux’s voice is a bee against her ear, buzzing, annoying. “I’m gonna come all over your hot little ass.” 

“Yeah,” she says, with another sigh. “Go ahead.” 

Her breasts are bouncing hard now, rocking up and down as she feels his hot come hit her panties and spurt up over her lower back. 

The light of Ben’s cigarette drops a little in the darkness, as though it’s hanging from the corner of that luscious mouth.

“Fuh-uk.” Hux sounds like he’s strangling. He droops behind her. Eyes still on the orange gleam of a small fiery circle in the darkness nearby, Rey reaches up and shimmies, pulling her tank off over her head. She wipes the cum off her panties, picks up her jeans, and gives Hux a small, tight smile in the darkness. “Well, thanks. That was super.”

She steps around him and opens the door to her room, closing it behind her.


	2. Bacall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

“Armie’s making eggs,” Beth says, gesturing with a plastic whisk toward their dingy kitchenette with the fading faux wood cabinets. Apparently, her mum, who cannot cook to save her own life, is helping.

“Nice.” Rey drifts toward the black lacquer coffee table, an apparition of sun warmth and loneliness in a dark green tank dress with a black bra showing plainly underneath. 

“Do you want some?” Hux gestures toward her, a crooked smile visible beneath his ginger shadow. 

Rey reaches for his wallet on the table, picking it up and thumbing through it before looking up at the pair with a blinding smile. “No, thanks. Mind if I borrow a spot uh cash, though? I need to pick up a few things.”

Her mother is frowning, whisk forgotten. “Rey–” she begins, but  Armie’s blue eyes narrow only for a moment before he nods, congenial again. 

“Of course. Help yourself.”

“But Armie, she really shouldn’t...”   


Rey doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation. She slips out the front door, clutching two twenties in a slim fist. 

**

The black bear next door must still be kicking around someplace. His car, an older Camaro from the looks of it, is still sitting in Luke Skywalker’s drive next door. Rey slows down at the end of the walk, quickly dropping to her feet as though to tie the laces on her dirty trainers. The tags are from California and feature the vanity print for the Redwoods. 

She smiles. A very fuckable Redwood, that one. Climbable, even. 

He had been watching them last night, she knew. It wasn’t anything new, having men watch her, want her. That one, though, the dark one, he seems possibly worth a little time. She’d like to just see what that night black hair feels like at least. Maybe she’ll even let him fuck her. Better than Hux. 

Anybody is better than Hux. 

It’s already hot. It would be. No one in her house rolls over before eleven, and it’s climbing twelve now. The heat settles against the gravel drive out to the main road with a heaviness that feels physical. Just once, one time, she’d like to end up somewhere cool and green. She’d thought, when Beth had thrown a dart at the map in New York, and begun beguiling her with tales of the greenest state in the land of the free, it might be this time. But this place is so far from the mountains. The green suffocates. The heat sits in the trailer at night, an uninvited guest that slicks her skin and makes her smell herself as she tosses and turns, searching for comfort on the mattress in the floor.

It takes thirty minutes one-way, so the first thing she grabs in the Dollar General off Hawthorn Road is a huge bottle of water. She totes it with her as she shops, picking up and putting down lip gloss, nail polish, a face mask. In the back of the store, Jannah is stocking toilet paper, her hair braided and carefully covered by a red bandana. 

“Well, if it isn’t her ladyship,” the black girl drawls, smirking as Rey leans against an endcap full of fruity air fresheners and off brand Z iploc bags. 

Rey rips open the bag of Funyuns she picked up on her way to the back and arches an eyebrow. “Did you know old man Skywalker has a nephew?” The smell of processed onion and sour cream wafts between them.    


Jannah snorts, slicing open another giant box of cheap one-ply with her utility knife. “Skywalker? I didn’t know he had anything besides good weed.” 

“Right. Well, he does. And the guy’s like...enormous. He showed up during Mum’s party last night calling Skywalker Uncle Luke.” She makes an air quote with one hand. 

Jannah cocks her head, slender neck a column of grace against the messy overflowing stock all around them. “What’s it to you then?”

Rey’s lips twist. “Not a bleedin’ thing. It’s just odd, that’s all.”

“Um hmm. Odd.” Jannah imitates Rey’s accent, making the word, “aud.”

“Oh, shut up. How much for those kiddie waders out front? I really want one.”

“Why? Going to offer to soak the nephew’s feet?”

“You’re the one with the foot fetish, darling. Not me.”

**

In the end, she does buy some polish, a glittery silver, as well as a small bottle of acetone, some Q-tips, the water and snacks, and the kiddie pool. She picks out the pink one, and walks all the way home with it on her back, shoelaces dragging through the dust. 

Beth and Hux have gone when she gets back. Probably her mum’s new boy toy doesn’t want her bumming any more money. There’s no note, but there never is. She’d be more surprised if there was one. 

She hooks up the leaky hose and drags it around to the back of their trailer where she dropped the pool. The water hits the patterned plastic bottom (fashioned to resemble scales) with a misty hiss. She tramps back inside to make a peanut butter sandwich, her whole body already sweaty, dusty, and aching. 

She eats with one hand, the other fiddling with her hair while she watches the water fill the pool from the back deck. There’s a rabbit at the end of the yard, skirting the line between their property and Skywalker’s. No sign of the big man. 

She’s still hungry, always is, really, but she unfolds her legs and tosses a bit of crust to the bunny. How anything survives around here is a damnable wonder. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. Surviving isn’t that hard. It’s living that doesn’t really happen. Not in this trailer park. Not in this town. Not anywhere with Beth. 

Sighing, she heads inside again to wash off the dust in the shower. 

**

Her mum doesn’t come home. Rey doesn’t worry. She waits. 

When she’s sure, when it’s nearly eleven and the sounds of ragged children and arguing neighbors has quietened to a low thrum, she slips out the door of her tiny room, and patters down the creaking deck steps, her feet bare on the still-warm wood.

She’s sprawled in the kiddie pool, wearing her black bra and her one good pair of black lace panties when Ben opens the back door of Skywalker’s trailer next door. 

His glowing cigarette moves toward her in the darkness, and the shape of him, a hulking mass against the sky, blots out the stars as he picks his way across the grass.

Smoke curls from between the lush bow of his lips. His eyes take her in slowly, and as they move over the curve of her shoulders and pause on the flat plane of her stomach, Rey watches him. He’s a dark prince, she thinks, with his mane of dark hair and the moles that take his face from pretty to devilish.

He doesn’t look away, but there’s a smirk hiding in the corner of his wide mouth as he looms over her. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

Her eyes find his. “Nothing you can’t fix.”

His cigarette is  ashing onto the grass between them. “You don’t seem like a Bogie and Bacall fan.”

Rey furrows her brow, trying to make out what he’s about. “Huh?”

Ben laughs. “How old are you, kid?”

“Eighteen.” Seventeen.

“Uh huh.” He sits down on her bottom step, sticks the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and begins unlacing his shoes in the moonlight. “Got any room in there? I’ll join you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Ben Solo will fit in a kiddie pool?


	3. Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here. Are you?

He doesn’t fit. Ben knew he wouldn’t before he said it, but the flash of shock in her hazel eyes, the way they seem to glow in the broken fingers of light that penetrate from the street lamp out front, make the discomfort worth it. His jeans lay discarded on the grass closer to Luke’s trailer, and his t-shirt, rumpled and a little wet, with them. 

His knees are somewhere around her rib cage and his feet, always so large as to make him feel self-conscious, hook around the wet smoothness of her ass. He can feel part of her lacey black undies with his toes. 

The girl, Rey, his uncle had said, she’s staring. She hasn’t stopped since he took off his shirt. Before she was all cool insolence, sipping what is probably her mother’s Whiteclaw with dripping fingers. Once he yanked the shirt off, she put the can down in the grass to watch and she hasn’t looked away again. Even when he stood next to her in his gray underwear and climbed into the silly pink pool, his cock feeling chilled and yet too hot being almost even with her very fuckable (but underage, his uncle had said) mouth, she hadn’t blinked. Rey had simply stared up at him, her eyes tracking from his knees to his thighs, and up, and up, until they were watching one another eye-to-eye and he was the one to look away. He had to sit down, so it’s not like he broke first or anything. 

“You are a right big bastard, aren’t you?” It’s spoken with an edge, and it occurs to Ben, who has seen just about everything between living at race tracks and on film sets, that this little kitten might actually have gone a bit feral here in this nowhere town with nothing to keep her occupied. 

Will she bite? Damn, he hopes so. 

Ben clear his throat. “Well, yeah. Or so I’ve been told.” 

One of her eyebrows quirks. He watches the way the honey gold of her shins hug his very white thighs. Fuck it. Maybe he’ll bite. 

“Well,” Rey leans back a bit, her breasts rising, falling, rising in her Wal-Mart bra. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” 

She leans forward, pressing her shoulders, her stomach, all of her against all of him, one small hand running over his knee and down the smoother hair of his inner thigh. “Aren’t you going to show me?” 

One of his huge hands engulfs hers over his thigh, stopping her quest. “Hey, kid, slow down. I just came out here to beat the heat and talk to the neighbors.” 

Rey rolls her eyes. “Right. And I came out here to wait for you to come fuck me. Could we get on it with it, please?” 

“Such a pretty mouth.” Ben squeezes her hand. “Really. I bet you say that to all the guys.” 

“No.” Rey huffs. “Just the lucky ones. C’mon, mate. I’m ready now. You don’t have to do this charming American small talk or whatever.” 

Surprising himself as much as her, Ben lets go of her hand, leans forward to cup her slightly pointed chin in both of his hands, and kisses her. Her lips part immediately, their warmth and softness challenging his, trying to push the tempo of the kiss into overdrive. He is, as she so airily noted, however, a big bastard, and he’s able to control pretty much whatever he wants, including their kiss. He swirls his tongue against hers and drops lower, slowly kissing along her jaw, her clavicles, the line of her neck and back up with the unhurried ease of a man who knows what he is doing, to the smattering of golden star freckles across her cheekbones. 

“Bloody hell,” she growls at last. “What are you doing?” 

He does bite, just a tiny nip at her jaw, as he keeps both of her wrists trapped in one of his hands. “Tasting. Shhh.” He smacks at her neck with a garish kissing sound. “Stop talking and enjoy it.” 

“I can’t enjoy it.” Rey is pouting, something she hasn’t done in years too innumerable to count. She can feel the chafing of the harsh lace and cotton scraping at the throbbing lips of her quim. It’s not enough, not by far. “I want to come. On you.” She closes her eyes as his blunt fingers clutch her wrists more tightly. His slightly crooked teeth take hold of one of her ear lobes, pulling it with a slippery edge between pain and pleasure and sucking it against his full bottom lip. Whimpering, she tries again, forcing herself to think, just think clearly for a second. “Pl-please.” 

He growls, burying that silky head of dark locks into her chest, laving at the tops of her breasts where they press slightly against the bra. For one glorious second she realizes he has released her hands and starts to reach for him, any part of him, before her arms fall boneless at her sides as he pushes the lace between her legs aside. The water, warmed from the day’s sun, stirs against her slit as he brushes a finger against her aching cunt. “Oh.” Rey thinks that’s her, but it might be him, she’s not really sure. In the next moment, he is knuckle deep, pumping into her. 

“Greedy kitten, aren’t you?” The warmth of his breath against her once-wet breasts makes gooseflesh pop out all over her skin. “Thought you could lay around in your panties and not be punished for it? Think you’d get your way?” 

It takes all of Rey’s control, but she raises one hand to pull at the back of his head. His eyes, dark and a little dangerous, meet hers. “I usually do,” she taunts, but the words die out in her throat as he slips another finger into her easily, her slick mingling with the water. 

He reaches up inside her, his two fingers already thicker than the water bottles she usually tries to hump when she’s beyond hope. His other hand spans her waist, holding her up so as not to collapse the wading pool with their weight. He touches something inside of her, a spot she’s never been able to reach, while his broad thumb caresses maddeningly slowly against her clit. “Can you take three, baby? I want you to. I think you can, don’t you? Please.” He lobs her words back at her, and she nods hard, eager to do as he says. His ring finger joins the other two and the stretch is like nothing, no one, she has ever felt before. It hurts and it stings, and it makes the blood in her veins rush and sing. 

He fucks her with his fingers and she notices with only a smidgeon of guilt that he’s doing all the work, pulling at his own cock, which he must’ve taken out while her eyes were rolling back inside her skull, jacking at himself as best he can while hammering her with his ivory fingers. Harder and faster he works until her eyes open wide, taking in the scatters of moles on his face, the knife edge of his slightly too long nose, the shimmer of the street lamp in his black hair across from her. “Oh, God.” It’s a prayer and a swear. “Oh, God,” Rey breathes. “I’m so close.” 

His other hand comes up from his own pleasure to yank at the cups of her bra. “Give it to me, kitten,” he demands. “I want it. Want all of you.” The heat of Ben’s mouth seals over the too tight nub of one of her little nipples, sucking and slicking it with his tongue while he fucks her right over the edge of madness and best laid plans for getting laid and hunger and tired and need and want and now, with only one of his slightly roughened hands. 

** 

The stars above them are still hazy at the edges, an exploding, shimmering glow of beauty that pulse as Rey blinks. Ben is sitting on his ass again, pumping a cock that looks too big even for his ridiculous size, and watching her attempt to drag her lungs out of the sky and back into her own chest. The obscene squelching of his fist against his wet member sends an unexpected ripple of want clear through her. This is odd, Rey thinks. He was supposed to be a one and done, fuck and get it out of her system. 

He’s quick and efficient, but it’s apparently been a while because thick ribbons of pearl white cum slide up and over his fingers as he grunts through a really spectacular climax in which she’d have wanted to participate if she could feel her toes. Rey reaches forward, cupping some of the water between them and using it to wash away the stickiness as his fingers unclench. 

“Well,” she muses. “I guess technically that was on you.” 

He sits up straighter, his lovely hair a bit ragged, as his widely muscled chest heaves. “That was not what I thought was going to happen. At all.” 

Rey blinks, sighing. “Is this the part where you say this was all a huge mistake and beg me not to tell my mum?” 

Ben surprises her by gripping her knee, hard. His eyes are arresting, and she finds herself looking away, squirming a bit in her stretched-out panties. “Have you ever been to California?” The timbre of his voice suggests this is a very important question, one that matters for reasons she cannot imagine. 

She peers at him closely, unsure. “Um. No?” 

“No?” 

“No. I mean, no, I have not.” 

His breathe comes out in a whoosh that smells of cigarettes and her own skin. “Would you like to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story and want to read more of it, would you drop me a kudo or a comment?  
> xo  
> I'm TGBMcCray on twitter.


	4. Lucifier

He’s controlling his rage as well as he can while she ransacks the dilapidated trailer for cheap clothes and chap stick and flips flops–girly things that poor chicks seem to think are priceless. 

Someone had, hadn’t they? Told her she was a huge mistake and begged her not to tell her mom? He wishes he knew who it was. He’d pulled their balls out through their nose and feed them to the guy. 

For a brief moment, as Rey fishes around in a broken laundry basket for t-shirts and cotton underwear, he wonders if he might not be as bad. The girl is not legal yet, though she is past the prosecuting age for this state. He’s only twenty-two after all. (Twenty-three.) 

Her skeleton seems far too visible beneath her skin, a rigid line for a nose, tiny tits, hip bones that protrude from her black lace panties like the bleached bones in an O’Keefe painting. Ben watches her shimmy into a pair of tattered shorts from the basket and decides to pour himself a drink while he waits. Looking around the dingy kitchen, he reconsiders the point and simply downs a swig of the rot whiskey left out in a mostly clean bottle on the gold-flecked Formica. 

Rey Not-Eighteen Nobody lifts an overplucked eyebrow, pulling on a t-shirt emblazoned with the words, “We are the people our parents warned us about,” in curling script. That’s from a book, he knows. A young adult book from the ’80s where a group of teenagers take a cross country trip under the threat of nuclear war while a shadowy group of FBI agents tails them for reasons unknown. Ben had checked it out as an eighth grader when Poe told him there was a sex scene. It had been, well, anticlimactic. 

He thinks about that cross-country trip notion as the girl wanders down a hallway too tight for two people to pass at once in search of he-knows-not-what. He’d invited her home, to California, with him for not much more than the scent of her on his long fingers and that dusting of freckles across her too sharp nose. He remembers Kylo, his geriatric cat, found as a matted mess of black kitten fluff in an overgrown ditch next to one of his dad’s practice tracks near Sonoma. Kylo was shaking, underfed, and glue eyed in the late afternoon heat that made the track shimmer and soften in the distance. He had worms and fierce little teeth and tended to shit in piles of laundry long after he knew better. His dad had said no. Hell no, actually, in that rough Dad voice that meant business. His mother had only sighed. 

Kylo had been a biter for too long. He wonders how long Rey will spit and scratch at him. She’s entirely rough, not just around the edges, but deep in her too-slender bones. 

She reappears with a half full trash bag in one hand and a sack-looking fabric bag slung over one shoulder. She puts a hand out and he hands her the whiskey bottle, which she neatly finishes and sets aside on her way to the buckled door. He’s saying, “Wait,” before he realizes he’s opened his mouth.

“What?” She’s sullen, and somehow annoyed with the man who is offering her a way out, at least temporarily. 

Ben gestures around, first at the kitchen and then toward the hall. “Don’t you want to leave a note or something? I don’t want the cops after me.” 

Her laugh could freeze the L.A. sun. “No one will look,” she says, eyes blank and staring through him. “No one at all.” 

**

The girl refuses to sleep. Her eyes track the dark shapes of blue and black hills, the amber colored grass in the occasional streetlight glow. Her tiny fingers weave patterns in the buttermilk and cinnamon of her own thighs, pressing with her thumbs until light red splotches appear and fade into white circles. 

He takes his hand off the gear shift, reaching over to lightly rest it over one of her bony ones on her thigh. She immediately slips her hand out from under his and tugs his fingers, guiding him to the v of her shorts, pressing her legs closed against him and shimmying a little.

Ben moves, putting his hand firmly back on the gearshift. Rey rolls her eyes, hooking her fingers in the elastic band of her tie-dye shorts, pulling shorts and knickers down to her knees and wiggling the clothes into a pile on his floorboards. 

“Look,” he tries, “I didn’t bring you along for...for that.”

She eyes him, sucking her bottom lip. She’s definitely sullen again. 

“Really?” Maybe it’s the British accent, but she manages to both scoff and tease him in the single word.

“Well, not just for that, anyway.” He keeps his eyes on the road, taking the series of curves after the squiggly arrow sign with smooth rolls of the gear shift under his palm. California’s great for going fast, but Camaros were made for curves.

“Right, mate.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her insert two fingers into her own soft mouth and bring the glistening tips out, reaching down to apply them where they are apparently most needed. “You be chivalrous and all and keep driving. I’d like to bloody sleep, and this helps.” 

She’s not wearing a bra at the moment, a fact made more apparent as she circles her little hole with her fingers, smoothing and touching, sighing. Her nipples tighten to prickled nubs against the t-shirt, and after a few moments, in which he can hear her sounds, breathy and slick, so clearly in the car between them that he feels like a filthy voyeur, she reaches up with the other hand and schelps the shirt up out of her way. She squeezes her left breast hard, and then twiddles the pebbled point of her tiny tit with her fingers. 

Ben may be trying to do the right thing, but his cock has other ideas, hardening painfully against his leg, encased too tightly in cotton underwear and jeans. 

“Seriously?” He coughs. “This is ridiculous, Rey.” 

Her eyes swing over to him, her head lolling against the passenger side window as he takes the next curve too fast. “Say that again,” she says. 

“What?”

“My name.”

“Goddammit, Rey.” He takes his eyes off the winding road for a split second, annoyed, and sees her force two fingers deep into her pussy as her name leaves his lips.

“Ughnf.” She starts to push them in and drag them out, circling her clit in the darkness of the car with the middle finger of her other hand. 

“That’s it.” Ben speeds up, eyes scanning beyond the headlights for a road, a pull off, an emergency lane, anything.

She ignores his outburst, busy with her own pleasure. Her hips twitch and her breath is picking up, making her tits rise and fall in a most distracting way. 

Up ahead, finally, there’s a green road sign, something or other valley road. Every road is this fucking state is valley-something. He swings the car to the right, bumping along what he’s discovered is more gravel path than road, before pulling up next to a small open field and cutting the lights. 

Ben feels like a homing pigeon. His mouth is slicking over the tiny brown buds of her tits before he’s finished turning the key off. He wrenches one of her hands away from her cunt and places it firmly against the bulge of his jeans as he leans over her, sucking her breast into his mouth in one bite. 

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up.” 

She reaches up, twining sticky fingers in the wisps of his dark hair. She nips at his neck, bitchy and breathless. “Make me.”

He unclasps his seatbelt in a fury and is outside of the car and over to her side before he knows what he’s doing. The interior light is bright when he yanks open her door, but he reaches up under the dash with one hand, pulling at some wire, and it blinks out. 

“What the fuck–”

With shaking hands, he turns her, hauling her slim legs out the car door and pushing her back against the console now behind her. His hands pin hers against the smooth black leather of the seat on either side of her naked, freckled hips as he hits his knees outside the car. The only thought that comes to him in the sticky humidity of the still night around them, is that he wants to taste her again. 

_ Everywhere.  _

Ben buries his nose in her cunt, inhaling deeply and licking a thick swipe up from the bottom of her slit to the top. 

“Holy Christ.” 

Was that him? No. It’s that accent again. Definitely her. His lips quirk into a half smile, and he gets down to work. 

His lips are sopping, sticky with her sweetness within moments, but he doesn’t stop, even when it feels like she’s going to rip his air out by the roots. He fingers her deeply as he licks, angry at being kept from her this long, thinking of how much more loudly she groans when his fingers are inside her. He keeps petting those hot, warm walls, laving at her clit with his swollen tongue, fast, fast, slow, while she wriggles and yanks at his hair, her tiny fingers scratching at his scalp and digging into his broad shoulders. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her thighs close against his face, suffocating him in heavenly warmth. “Want...want...”

Ben pulls back, pressing a third blunt finger inside her, feeling the tug of her muscles against his knuckles. “What do you want? Mouthy brat. What else do you want?”

“Fuck me.” Rey cries it, almost sobbing, her thighs pushing his ears against his head almost painfully. “You fucking sod. Fuck me. Please, please, please. Fuck me.” 

In one fluid motion, he’s up. The muscles in his arms don’t even protest as he reaches into the car, picks her up in his arms, and walks around to lay her on the hood. Rey leans up on her elbows, ass tightening at the coolness of the hood against her overheated body. She watches him, bold and slant-eyed, as he undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, pulls them down underwear and all, and gives his cock a long, hard stroke. He chest expands as a breath stutters out of him. 

Beyond reasoning, with the glint of white stars above them in a black sky, Ben pulls her toward him by her calves, lining up. Feverish and feral, Rey leans up to bite at his chest, sucking his nipples, ripping at his chest and huge arms with her tiny nails, licking and biting whatever she can reach. “I thought you’d never get to it,” she taunts. 

“Good, God.” Ben’s breath hisses between his teeth as she reaches around to squeeze his ass cheeks in both her hands. “What will it take to shut you up?”

He lifts his leaking cock to her warmth and plunges inside before she can speak. Her garbled response is cut off in a deep, keening moan as he begins to move, fucking her the way she wants, the way he’s wanted since he saw her on her back porch with that red-headed weasel humping her. 

His hips snap, pressing his dick deep, deeper, fully inside her warmth. Her walls are tight, so tight, snug, and maddeningly wet. He places one large fist around her neck, holding her, as hard as he can without hurting her, against the hood as his loses himself in the pleasure of her, this odd, angry, lost, beautiful little brat. 

She’s mewling. Rey’s whimpers drive him on, and as her hips rise up off the car to meet him, his fingers tighten around her neck and she rolls her head back against the metal, as lost in him as he is in pounding her quim.

“More.” Her fingers reach up around his fist at her throat and squeeze. “Tighter.”

His eyes are deep set and dark pools of wet blackness above her. His hair seems to mix with the ink of the sky. The air between them is bitter with the tangy scents of sex and sweat. It’s the ivory paleness of him, scattered with dark moles and curling black hair, that reminds her of the statue. She’d gone round to see it once at Holy Trinity in Aberdeenshire when Mum had been gone for a few weeks. She’d been bagging around with a couple of friends and they’d gotten it in their heads to go see the statue of Satan for themselves. When she closes her eyes, she can almost see the massive wings, rising from his back above her.

His hand closes around her throat, hard, as he pushes deep and fucks into her, his cock long and wonderfully wide, rubbing in all the right places, splitting her open on the hood of his Camaro in the middle of nowhere like a summer peach, juicy and slick beneath him.

She screams as she comes, and Ben’s fingers curl against her throat, just a little tighter, enough to feel the chords of her smooth, bronzed neck, and as her channel sucks at him, clamping down like a vise, his feels his balls tighten. Both of his hands drop to her thighs and he uses them to lever her ass as he bucks against her, streams of his hot seed rising, thrumming, as her clenching muscles milk everything he has into all that she is. 

His chest heaves and his head bows at the altar of this...this demon that has possessed him. He turns his head from side to side like a dog shaking off water. 

Her eyes are closed but she cracks one open a slit and smiles lazily. “Well,” he hears her say in those clipped tones that usually seem reproachful. Now, though, she sounds chill. Almost, Ben thinks, satisfied. “Good to know you don’t do things half-arsed.” 

She sleeps to the state line.

**Author's Note:**

> *ducks*  
> Don't hit me. That's all the Hux squickiness there will be. I swear!


End file.
